


Exculpatory

by astolat



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Lucifer Gets Around, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 12:50:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6805267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat/pseuds/astolat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You can’t really be this sad over him,” Lucifer said a little desperately. “He’s missed your birthday, twice!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exculpatory

Personally, Lucifer didn’t see what the problem was. Malcolm had gone back to his just deserts, Dan the douche had managed his desired moment of redemption and gone to _his_ just deserts; Trixie was safely back home undamaged, which no one could argue weren’t _her_ just deserts; and he’d had a friendly chat with the officer in charge of evidence—massive fan of the Kings, desperately wanted season tickets—and got him to clear that inconvenient record of Chloe taking the cash out of lockup, and while possibly that wasn’t exactly what she _deserved,_ it was what she was getting anyway.

All was right with the world, except after three days without so much as a peep from her, he went over to the Decker residence and found Chloe gone out, a bored teenage babysitter playing phone games in the living room, and Trixie sitting alone in her bedroom holding a stuffed animal, silent and subdued, doing nothing at all.

“What’s the matter with you?” Lucifer said, eyeing her warily from the doorway. “Are you _ill?_ Where’s your mother?”

Trixie looked up at him. “She went to Daddy’s apartment. She has to pack it up.”

“Why on earth does _she_ have to do it?” Lucifer said, frowning.

Trixie lowered her head again. “Daddy’s going away,” she said, almost inaudibly.

“Yes, straight to prison,” Lucifer said with satisfaction, then, “Wait, is _that_ why you’re brooding?” The child’s entire face transformed like sad origami before she buried it into her toy’s side with a hiccup of pure unadulterated misery. “Oh, honestly.” She cried for several more moments before coming snuffling back out. Lucifer grimacingly handed her one of his monogrammed Egyptian cotton handkerchiefs, and she wiped her face and honked into it.

“Lucifer, do _you_ know how long Daddy’s going to be gone?” she said, with a last sniff, staring down at the crumpled kerchief in her hands.

“For at least ten years, I’d imagine,” Lucifer said. “Abetted half a dozen murders, confessed and everything—it’s not as though anyone’s going to make him a deal.” Trixie began crying _again_. “Right, if you’re just going to wail, I’ll be leaving.”

She looked up at him tearfully. “Don’t go.”

What exactly she thought the incentive to _remain_ was, Lucifer had no idea, except there must have been one, since instead of walking directly out of the room he sat down next to her on the bed. She leaned against his side. “You do realize you’re looking in entirely the wrong place. I don’t _do_ comfort,” he said, but she only hitched herself a little closer, and he couldn’t actually find anywhere to put his arm except around her shoulders, which were outrageously small and fragile, and he found himself vividly and passionately sorry not to be in Hell right now, meting out Malcolm’s punishment with his own hands.

Or for that matter in whatever jail cell Dan had got himself stuffed into, giving him some of what _he_ deserved for having been such a complete fuck-up when he had a _child_ to think of, _this_ child, who should have been sniveling in _his_ arms and not all over the sleeve of Lucifer’s formerly beautiful jacket.

“You can’t _really_ be this sad over him,” Lucifer said a little desperately. “He’s missed your birthday, _twice!_ ” It had been a rather sore spot with Chloe; she’d told him about it three times during her drunken spree. “Besides, if he was any real use, your mum wouldn’t have ditched him in the first place.”

“I still want him back! I don’t care if he misses _all_ my birthdays.”

“Your Dad, right or wrong, is that it?” Lucifer said, glancing upwards. “I know someone you’d get along with.”

“At least he was _trying_ ,” Trixie said, with another gulp, and Lucifer looked away and said, “Well, there is that, I suppose.”

#

Someone in the office of the district attorney had left Lucifer an officious voicemail instructing him to show up at the district attorney’s the next morning to be interviewed by the A.D.A. in charge of the case, which he’d intended to ignore, but instead he kept the appointment after all. “Right,” he said, seating himself across the desk from one Felicidad Morales, “so what’s it going to take to get the sorry bastard off the hook?”

“Excuse me?” she said, so Lucifer explained about Trixie wanting her dad back, “For reasons which pass all understanding, honestly, but there’s no talking her out of it,” he added. “So let’s get to it: what do you want?”

“To—to be an ethical public servant,” Morales said, with an air of desperation. “So I can’t trade work favors for my personal desires.”

Lucifer groaned. One of _those_. “Why don’t you just start by telling me what the personal desires _are_ , and we’ll take it from there, shall we?”

“I’ve never had an orgasm,” she blurted, and then turned red.

Lucifer stared at her, taken aback. “What, _never?_ ” It couldn’t have been for lack of opportunity; she even fit into L.A.’s rather boringly narrow standards of beauty: major features all in the correct and roughly symmetrical places, the alarmingly gym-toned quality of a woman who worked out with a trainer four days a week, a very good suit. He’d expected her to want a political career. “Never with a _partner_ , or—” but he didn’t need to go on; her mortified and miserable expression was answer enough.

“That’s _tragic_ ,” he said, appalled. He stood up. “Look, I’m going to take care of that for you right now—just a freebie, no strings attached.” He tossed his jacket over the back of his chair and took off his belt. “We’ll talk business afterwards.”

“Oh,” she said, staring up at him, her mouth open. He smiled at her encouragingly and went round to the other side of the desk.

#

He left Felicidad asleep on the floor of her office, covered with his jacket, and put a post-it on her desk with his number and a note to call him. He sauntered over to the police station next door and found Chloe at her desk, looking tired and frazzled. “What have you been doing?” she said, frowning up at him. She sniffed the air, her frown deepening.

“Felicidad Morales,” he said. “And let me tell you, _that’s_ a repeat if I’ve ever had one. Would you believe the poor woman had never had an orgasm in her _life?_ ” Chloe stared at him, looking quite as appalled as it deserved. “I know, it’s horrifying, isn’t it? I had to work for it like you wouldn’t _believe!_ It took an _hour_ to get that first one, and another forty minutes for the second.” He waved a hand. “Things were more routine by the third one, but I can’t hold that against her.” He perched on her desk and beamed at her.

“Sorry to interrupt your busy fornication schedule with police work!” Chloe said.

“Not at all,” he said. “She fell asleep. What’s on our docket for today, Detective? I’m feeling positively _triumphant_.” He leaned over the desk and saw the open case: a murder down in the Valley, man found face-down in a pool, wife looking highly suspicious in that too-obvious way that suggested someone else was trying to dump it on her. “Shall we head over and have a chat with Mrs. Body?”

“If you don’t have to take a side trip for some condoms and maybe another hook up first,” she said, getting up and snatching her jacket, stalking away.

“I don’t need condoms.” He followed her, puzzled. “Are you angry with me? What’d I even do? You haven’t seen me in four days, you wouldn’t even _know_ about anything I’ve done except—wait a minute, you’re _jealous?_ ” He caught her by the arm and swung her round, astonished.

“That’s ridiculous,” she snapped.

“Yes, it _is!_ How could you imagine I’m not ready for you at any possible moment?” Lucifer said. “And right now I’m even _revved up_! Look, there’s an empty office right there, the engine’s _hot_ , come on, let’s go!”

Chloe stared at him, mouth open, then took an enormous breath and said, “First of all, I am _not_ jealous—”

“Oh, don’t even _start_ ,” Lucifer said. “If there’s anything I know, it’s deadly sin.”

“—and I am _not_ going to sleep with you!”

It was _his_ turn to stop with his mouth open. “So you’re planning to just be _jealous_ of other people I fuck, without even fucking me yourself?” he said, bewildered. “That’s—that’s _nonsensical!_ That’s all the tedious bits of a relationship with none of the _fun_.”

 But as absurd as it sounded, that was evidently Chloe’s exact plan. She spent the whole rest of the day _sulking,_ and then after they delivered the pool boy (actually a hitman hired by a junior partner in the man’s law firm who’d been looking to create a vacancy on the masthead) to the hands of justice, Lucifer’s cell phone rang, and it was Felicidad. “Um,” she said a bit tentatively, “I—I don’t suppose you’re free tonight?”

“A moment, darling,” he said, and looked at Chloe. “Look, if it makes you feel better, you can have right of first refusal. Well? Me, tonight, yes or no?”

Chloe flushed and bit out, “No!”

He rolled his eyes. “Suit yourself. Yes, darling, I _am_ available,” he told Felicidad. “Why don’t you come to Lux when you’re off, we’ll go upstairs after my set.”

#

“ _Hah!_ ” he crowed, wiping his mouth off as Felicidad finally toppled over the edge, and he caught her up in his arms and pulled her up into his lap and slid her straight onto his cock while she was still clenching internally, fucking her through the spasms with his thumb riding her clit and giving her a little flick to keep things going whenever they tapered off. She lasted almost three solid minutes before she dissolved into hiccuping sobs in his arms and gasped, “I can’t, I can’t,” and he gave a deeply satisfied sigh and let himself come with the enormously pleasant sensation of a hard-earned victory.

“I just don’t _understand_ her sometimes,” he complained to Felicidad afterwards, while they were catching their breath for another go. “I mean, when she really didn’t want to, all right, no accounting for taste, but now she _does,_ so what’s the idea?”

“Mnuf,” Felicidad said.

He sighed. “Anyway, lovely as this has been, I do need to take care of the other thing. So come on, give me a hand, here.” He gave her an encouraging slap on the bum. “He confessed, repented, et cetera. Putting him away isn’t really going to serve any purpose. Mind you, neither is letting him out, but why not, really.”

“I can’t let a dirty cop off,” Felicidad said, once she was able to form words again. “So many of them get away with so much shit anyway—people don’t report, they’re scared to testify, juries won’t convict them—I let off one who goddamn confessed, what does that do?”

“This _is_ going to be a knotty one,” Lucifer said thoughtfully. “Hm, what if you traded up? Swap him for a more guilty one?”

“Uh, who?”

“Oh, I have no idea,” Lucifer said. “I’ll just hunt one down, shall I?”

“I guess,” she said a bit doubtfully.

“Splendid, it’s a deal, then,” Lucifer said. “Now, what do you think about trying for a _five_ minute orgasm this time?”

#

“So who around here is really dirty?” he asked Chloe, the next day, surveying the mass of detectives and officers. She was still sullen and tight around the mouth. That morning he’d offered in desperation to give her head in the back seat of her car. He didn’t really want to—he had any number of delightful alternatives in mind for their first time, all of which wanted considerably more time and space, but he couldn’t stomach the prospect of watching her be pointlessly miserable the entire day.

“Orgasms are not a limited resource!” he’d tried. “There’s plenty to go round! Especially when I’m providing.” But she had turned him down flat, so pointless misery it was, then.

Now she gave him a sour look. “How would I know?”

“Come on, you must hear _some_ gossip,” he said.

“It’s funny how much people _don’t_ tell you about dirty cops after you’ve gone out on a limb hunting one down.”

He frowned. “Right.”

They spent most of the day interviewing witnesses on an old case until they came to one who confessed to Lucifer that actually she’d embezzled the money herself—he didn’t know what money she was talking about, the case was boring and he was preoccupied, but Chloe knew, so that made it two arrests in two days, which was quite a good showing.

“ _That’s_ got to put you in a better mood at least,” Lucifer said. “Come on, let’s go have a drink where the fine detectives of the city congregate.”

Chloe was in such a bad way she couldn’t resist saying, “You mean you aren’t meeting Felicidad?” coldly.

He sighed enormously. “No, darling, she’s having dinner with her girlfriend today.”

“Her what?” Chloe said.

“Her girlfriend,” Lucifer said. “She’s a lesbian.” Chloe stared at him. “What? Oh, you’d make an exception too if you’d _never had an orgasm_. Or possibly you _wouldn’t,_ Father only knows how far this masochistic streak of yours goes.”

She had a completely unreadable and peculiar expression on her face the whole way to the bar. Lucifer scanned the taproom while they had their drink, and picked out a table of cops who threw unfriendly looks in Chloe’s direction. “Back in a bit,” he told her, and strolled over to them. They were playing poker. He swung over a chair from the neighboring table and sat down. “Deal me in, gentlemen.”

One of them snorted. “You sure you’re in the right place? Aren’t you missing a piece of ass up at the bar?”

Lucifer sighed. “If only.  What’s the ante?” He tossed a fifty into the pot. “Come on, you’re all playing with me anyway, you might as well have a chance of winning for once.”

He loved poker for its own sake, actually. It was so beautifully mathematical, the shape of the entire universe peeking out of the faces on the cards. The rest of the room faded gently into the background as he smiled back at them, a clear light shining down on the table. The pile at Lucifer’s side kept growing and the cards traveled round and the men all began to sweat and shiver, staring at their hands fixedly. None of them tried to get up.

“Here’s the thing,” Lucifer said conversationally when it came his turn to deal, flipping the cards out into perfectly squared-off piles. “I’m in need of a really filthy wretch of a cop. More than the garden variety, take a bit of graft on the side, slip a few hundred dollars in your pocket on a drug bust sort. Now, none of you really seem to me like the excessively virtuous type. I could take you in turn, shake you a bit, see what falls out—or you could put your heads together and give me a name, instead. The name of someone who really deserves my attention. Someone who turns even your stomachs.”

They all raised their eyes just enough to trade pale, washed-out glances with one another, eyes red-rimmed. Lucifer smiled and said softly, “Well? Anyone have any discards?”

After a long moment, the man across the table whispered, “Leon Fraser.” Two of the others nodded a bit, seconding.

“Why, that wasn’t hard at all, was it,” Lucifer said. He pushed his entire pile into the center of the table and folded his hand. He stood up. “Do as you like with the pot,” he added cheerfully, and strolled back to the bar, where Chloe was looking even more irritated.

“What was _that_ about?” she demanded.

“Just a little background research, darling,” he said. “Let’s have a look at Leon Fraser, shall we?”

She frowned. “Leon Fraser in Burglary? I’ve never heard anything sketchy about him.”

“Then it seems he’s rotten _and_ circumspect,” Lucifer said. “Couldn’t be better.”

#

Chloe had no idea how Lucifer had got a line on Leon Fraser or why he was suddenly interested in cleaning up the department, but it took less than a day to convince her the guy _was_ dirty. His house and his used SUV were both fine, nothing out of reach, but he had a whole lot of deep-sea fishing gear, and when she checked for a boat license in the name of his elderly father, who lived in a nursing home for dementia patients, she got a hit. They drove down to the marina and found a 60-foot yacht that had cost at least four million, easy.

“Okay, fine, you were right about him,” Chloe said grudgingly, and then discovered she was talking to thin air: Lucifer had already bopped on up the gang plank and was _opening the door_.

“Ooh, very nice,” he said approvingly, when she caught up to him, peeking into a stateroom with a king size bed and polished mahogany headboard. “Sure you wouldn’t like to give it a whirl with me? Seems a pity to let it go to waste and all.”

“Yes, I _am_ sure!”

“Maybe I’ll give Felicidad a call, then,” he said— _absently_ , as if that wasn’t even obnoxious, as if it was completely reasonable for him to—to fuck someone else if she said no. Which it _was,_ obviously, and Chloe gritted her teeth and told herself she knew perfectly goddamn well that as soon as she said yes that would be the end of Lucifer, he’d flit off to the next shiny flower, and then he took out his phone and said, “Yes, this is Lucifer Morningstar, calling for A.D.A. Morales,” and she was so—angry and resentful and sad and, yes, fuck it, _jealous,_ she couldn’t help it, and suddenly she realized it didn’t matter. She couldn’t keep going like this anyway.

She reached out and took the phone out of his hand and hung it up. He blinked at her. Then without her even saying anything, he brightened, his whole face lighting up like she’d never seen, enough she could almost imagine—“Yes?” he said hopefully, holding out his hand, and she swallowed and said, “Yes,” her heart already pounding, and he caught her in his arms and literally swept her off her feet and onto the bed, and then when he was already halfway down her shirt and his mouth was just brushing the upper curve of her breast, she suddenly belatedly remembered—“Wait, no! What am I doing, Lucifer, we _broke in!_ This is a _suspect’s property!_ We can’t—”

“Oh _come on,_ ” he groaned, his face buried against her skin, the hum of his voice shivering through her breast straight to her nipples, electric, and she almost gave in, but she made herself think about how she would feel after the forensics team got through with the bed and she had to explain how certain things had gotten on the sheets.

“No, I _can’t,_ not here!” she said, forcing herself to get up. He fell back against the pillows with a sigh. “Fine, the back seat it is,” he said, sounding somehow resigned about it, and then he rolled off the bed and up to his feet in one movement, literally scooped her up and carried her all the way down to the car. He somehow managed to fit himself into the footwell of the back seat in a physics-defying way and got her pants off and oh holy shit

#

She drove them back to the station with a vague sense of unreality, her eyes fixed straight ahead, her hands at 10 and 2. Lucifer was glowing out at the world from the passenger seat, occasionally looking over at her and beaming.

She’d told herself more than once that it was all bragging and hype, that she wasn’t going to be any more impressed with him in bed than she was out of it, no matter what other people got out of the experience. Well, apparently Lucifer’s magic worked on her just fine once she let him in. She’d fallen apart in his hands over and over, and she definitely hadn’t made him work all that hard for it, either. She had the awful feeling she hadn’t held up her end, in fact. She’d been so busy coming her head off five times in a dizzying row she’d forgotten to even offer a handjob _,_ much less a _challenge_.

He didn’t seem to have any complaints, except for a sigh over the dusty knees of his tailored pants, but giving her spectacular head in the back seat of her car wasn’t exactly getting to bang her—or _Felicidad Morales_ —on a dirty-money yacht until the tide came in. She half felt stupid for—for not making a better showing, and half angry at herself for feeling that, like she even wanted to compete with the crazy porn star sex Lucifer routinely pulled.

But her stupid brain kept whispering that at least she could’ve _tried_ —that anyone else would’ve said yes to him in a second, and they wouldn’t even have to be hypnotized or whatever the fuck he did to people. Instead she’d said no and no and no and even after she’d said yes she’d still found a way to say no _again,_ and she couldn’t help realizing it was because she was fucking _scared_ of letting him have what he wanted from her, and the worst part was that meant he’d already gotten what _mattered_ from her, without ever asking for it.

Meanwhile, they’d reached the station, and Leon Fraser was at his desk. He turned out to be doing a nice little side business as a _hitman_. Lucifer got it all out of him in one friendly chat where Fraser explained—in the middle of the station with two dozen cops listening in—how much he loved deep-sea fishing, how he almost had enough saved up to retire and spend the rest of his life on his boat, it was only going to be another half-dozen hits, and it was really easy, he just arrested them when they were alone, took them out on his boat, put out to sea, shot them, and dumped the bodies overboard.

“You get great shark fishing, too,” he added earnestly. Chloe swallowed nausea, and even Lucifer had an expression of distaste on his face.

“Charming fellow,” Lucifer said, as Fraser was taken away, almost more confused than angry, obviously wondering why he’d just torpedoed himself before witnesses.

“I still don’t get it,” Chloe said to him. “How did you get his name out of those guys in the first place? And _why?_ ”

“Oh, to give him to Felicidad,” Lucifer said airily, like flowers or chocolate, and Chloe felt her stomach knot. _There’s a repeat if I’ve ever had one,_ and would he say that about _her?_ Oh, _fuck,_ she had been right saying no in the first place, she hadn’t made it any better. “I’d better give her a call, in fact,” he was saying, and she said tightly, “Yeah, I guess you should,” and took herself away as fast as she could, so she wouldn’t have to hear him making a date for his next round.

#

She buried herself in paperwork at her desk. Lucifer came by cheerily a few minutes later and said, “Darling, I’m off to the D.A.’s office. Dinner at my place tonight? I’d take you out, but to be perfectly honest I don’t see us making it through the first course after all this _unnecessary deprivation_ ,” like he thought that was going to be _okay_ , for him to go fuck Felicidad Morales now and fuck her a couple hours later, like she was just another moving part to slot into the machinery of his endless harem, and Chloe wanted to yell at him and also cry, but she was in the middle of the department, so instead she said, “I’ve got _Trixie_ ,” sharply.

He groaned. “Surely you can get a sitter?”

“I’m not going to,” she said. “Trixie’s just lost her _dad_ , Lucifer,” angry some more, because if Lucifer were a normal person he wouldn’t need to be told to think about a seven-year-old whose dad had just landed in jail, and also he wouldn’t need to be told that a woman with self-respect wasn’t going to let him keep her as part of a string, and also—

“Right, I really _am_ off to the D.A., then,” Lucifer said, and sailed off, leaving her so mad she couldn’t even keep working; she just got up and went grocery shopping on her way home and got an entire quart of rum raisin because it was clearly going to be that kind of week, and she was just putting everything away in the fridge when her cell rang, and she stuffed it between her chin and shoulder without looking. “Yeah, hello,” she said, and Dan said, “Chloe?”

“Dan?” she said, surprised; it wasn’t his scheduled call time. “What’s going on?”

Trixie popped out of her bedroom instantly, staring up at her with a weirdly urgent expression, lip caught between her teeth. Chloe eyed her, and in her ear Dan said, “Uh, you’re never going to believe this, but—I’m out.”

“You’re _what?_ ”

“I’m out,” Dan said. “The D.A. cut me a deal. Twelve hundred hours community service and a black mark on my record. Chloe, I’m not even losing my _job_.”

She stood there holding the phone, totally blank, and Trixie took a step closer and said, “Is Daddy coming home?” her whole face going open and hopeful like—like she’d been _expecting_ it, while Dan said, “Listen—I know we’ve still got a lot to work through—I’m not asking you to—you’ve got so much right to be mad at me. But—can I come over and see Trixie?”

“Yes,” Chloe said, “yes, of course you can come—Dan, who was on your case? Which D.A.—”

“Morales,” Dan said. “Turns out she just got another case with a dirty cop who’s a really big fish, my union rep said he thinks she doesn’t want to look like she’s got it in for cops in general. I know, it’s insane, I can’t believe it myself,” and she said, “uh huh,” dazedly.

She still didn’t quite believe it until he was actually there, sitting on the couch, Trixie in his lap with her arms tight around him and still sniffling a little; she’d cried she was so happy. Chloe stared at him another moment and then blurted, “Listen, will you stay with Trixie tonight? I—I need to do something.”

“Yeah, are you kidding, sure,” Dan said. “Hey, kiddo, how about pizza and ice cream?” he was saying as Chloe grabbed her keys and ran out the door and drove straight to Lux.

When she got there, Lucifer was out on the dance floor with a stunningly beautiful woman in front and a stunningly beautiful man in back, his head tipped back and heavy-lidded, wearing that little pleased half-smile, his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest and the guy’s hand slid deep into his opened waistband, visibly working, the woman kissing along his jaw with her hands inside his shirt—smug and so fucking _hot_ , and Chloe just watched him with her mouth dry, and she didn’t have to be jealous at all. Maybe he’d got what really mattered, but so had _she_ , and okay, he _wasn’t_ a normal person, but a normal person wouldn’t seduce a D.A. and hunt down a psycho hitman, all to spring the guy who’d helped get him framed for murder, and maybe she could start believing him when he told her she got to come first.

He turned around in their arms to kiss the man, and then he caught sight of her and broke into a full smile, dazzling. He slipped from their grasp and came towards her, buttoning his pants back up one-handed, and he caught her by the waist with both hands, his eyes shining down at her, intent and hungry and even more pleased. “You came!” Then he smirked. “Or you will, soon enough,” and she actually laughed, helplessly, because he was so—

“You got Dan out for me,” she said.

He frowned. “Nonsense. For _you_ , I’d have left the douchebag in prison where he belongs. I got him out for _Trixie_ ,” and Chloe just shook her head, smiling, and put her arms around his neck and kissed him. He leaned into the kiss, his hands sliding down to her thighs, and hoisted her up, encouraging her legs to wrap around his waist. He was already so hard she could feel him pressing up against her, hot even through their clothes, _revved up_ in a big way, and she shut her eyes and shivered against him, pressing herself closer, letting herself feel it, already imagining him—sliding into her, his fingers and his mouth on her again; the glitter in his eyes, a triumph that wasn’t about taking anything away from her at all.

His mouth curved against hers, smirky and sleazy and somehow adorable anyway. “Mmm, I’m going to take my _time_ with you tonight,” he murmured, full of relish, carrying her to the elevator. “I don’t suppose the douche can watch Trixie the rest of this week, for that matter? You’ve left me to build up quite the backlog of plans, darling, I hope you’re well rested.”

“You know, maybe I’ll ask him,” she said.  

# End

**Author's Note:**

> With many thanks to rivkat for beta! If you like, [reblog](http://astolat.tumblr.com/post/144221268578/exculpatory-4971-words-by-astolat-chapters-11)!


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